


Stin (Freedom)

by FabbuSkull



Series: Chances [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Escaping Slavery, M/M, Origin Story, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:08:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23566597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FabbuSkull/pseuds/FabbuSkull
Summary: A young Bosmer has suddenly been given his freedom under the guise of a cruel game. Unsure of what to do or how to survive on his own, he's chosen to use the abilities he's learned up to this point in order to keep himself alive.Riften seems like a good place to start...right?
Series: Chances [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696240
Kudos: 16





	Stin (Freedom)

**Author's Note:**

> Because I suddenly decided to do my billionth play though after so long, I figure it's time I dip my feet into the fandom just a little bit more. 
> 
> Context! Everyone loves context:
> 
> I have loads of stories written for my main Bosmer boy; I mean literal loads. But this seemed like a wonderful way to start a new series! I always do my play through the same...cause I'm sad like that. But this time, I have the actual confidence to make it an actual story of sorts! 
> 
> If this first part seems like it's going to go fast, that's because it's meant to. This is the starting point for what I have in store with all the experience I've gained with one character over the course of 8 years (and a reboot of sorts since I chose to start over) 
> 
> I can also take suggestions if anyone has one! I plan on making my Bosmer boi the best he's ever been in years. 
> 
> I'm ready. Are you ready? Then let's bounce!

" _I'm giving you something I never give anyone else, ally or enemy...I'm giving you a head start."_

His legs were throbbing. His feet were bruised and cut from the twigs and sharp thorns. Yet still, he ran. He ran from the voice replaying over and over in his head. The voice he grew up with for as long as he could remember.

_"I'll give you a two day start...and if my men find you, I can't be held responsible for anything they chose to do to you."_

Every inch of his body ached at the memory of every punishment he endured from those men...those Nords...from the whippings to the starvation...to the insults and agony he suffered because he was small...because he was weak to them...because he was different from them.

_"But if I find you...well...years I spent wanting to truly hurt you may be let loose. I've killed plenty of Elves to know their blood tastes sweet...and you've been nothing but sweet to all of us."_

His stomach churned enough to distract him and make him trip over a hidden branch, crashing to the ground with a loud THUD. He whimpered, but got back to his sore feet, eager to get as much distance as he could within the next two days. It seemed like enough time, but he knew deep down that it wasn't going to be if he didn't find a place to hide.

As soon as he got to his feet, however, he gasped and fell once more, this time near a small body of water, a large lake it looked to be. And it was at that moment the boy realized something critically important, at least right now.

He was thirsty.

In a panic, he crawled over to the pond and cupped the water into his hands, bringing it to his chapped lips, drinking it quickly and tears soon rolled down his cheeks as the cool water trickled down his throat. How long had it been since he last had a cool drink? He recalled that kindly elf with the dark skin sharing her drinks with him at...Darkwater, was it? It was his first time actually being around someone nice, someone who didn't treat him like a tool.

Three more palms of water and he felt relief, his throat no longer burning and his pounding headache seemed to vanish. His head also seemed to clear; he could think properly without panic and when he took one more gulp of water, he took the time to look at his reflection in the water...it was so clear...and he could see himself for the second time in his life.

He remembered how the kindly elf from before commented on how...pale he was for a...Bosmer? That's what she called him, right? He looked at his hands, turning them over to look at his palms before looking back at his face.

It was true; he was pale, but he could still see a hint of brown in his skin, just not like he had seen other people. Most of the Nords he had been with in his life had either fair skin or tanned looks. He had always assumed for the majority of his existence that he himself was a Nord...it made sense to him anyway. The tribes he had been tossed around to where usually nothing but Nords, so maybe he was traded off because he was just a smaller one, easy to take advantage of.

But as the years went on, he realized that while the men he had been around aged rapidly, he barely felt a change in himself. As small and as young as he was, he could easily remember every bandit tribe he'd been sent off too or even stolen from. There were many and yet he didn't really think about it until recently...the woman called him a Bosmer...a wood elf, as others called them. And he didn't even know how to respond to something like that. When she showed him his reflection for the very first time, he felt...sickened. At least at first.

His eyes were not the blue or brown he had seen in many Nords in his tribes...nor did they look normal. His own eyes were a crimson red color and his skin looked different...felt different. His hair, which he knew to be black like ebony, covered his face and was so long to touch his shoulders. And he truly was tiny...the kindly elf (she called herself a Dunmer, he remembered) did not hide her worry as she fed him bread and seared fish, asking if he was alone and where his family was.

He hadn't heard that word before...family...and it only gave her pause as the gears in her brain started working; her own red eyes glanced towards the men hiding in the trees, keeping out of sight and she bristled, suddenly knowing what this was.

The boy sighed and cupped more water in his palms, this time splashing the water over his face, wiping off the dirt and blood from his cheeks. As he rubbed his eyes, he couldn't stop himself as he hands trailed to one of his pointed ears, feeling it twitch under his fingertips. He truly was looking at himself for the first time in a new light...that woman helped him see just how different he was from those Nords...only now, he felt the truest extent to how badly he was treated and why.

Memories of the last few hours hit him hard and more tears leaked from his eyes, unable to stop them as he splashed more water over his face to cover his shame. Everything had happened so quickly...Shor's Stone...by the gods.

His job had been so simple; gain the trust of the miners there and wait for them to lower their guard, kill the leader in his sleep and have the bandits move in to kill the rest of the workers and rob their corpses. It was something he had done plenty of times before...why did this feel much more intense?

Oh right...because unlike back then, the people he tried to win the trust of simply gushed over the fact he was so childlike and innocent. Shor's Stone seemed more...down to the ground, so to speak. They immediately questioned why a Elfing was wondering Skyrim by himself, none more so than the Orc...the job was a fail as soon as he noticed the hand prints around the Elfs throat. The Orc demanded to know where he came from and who he was with...he couldn't even respond. While he had been yelled and screamed at by Nords all his life, being accosted by an Orc was something else entirely. He panicked and he ran, only to be stopped by his Bandit Chief and punished for his failure.

As was every punishment, physical or however he recalled, he would be left to sleep under a tree, hands bound and stomach empty, naked as they day he was born (save for the amulet around his neck that the bandits apparently couldn't remove), bruised all over. He didn't know any other life than this; it had always been this way. Years upon years of living like a slave...perhaps he was a slave to the tribes he was tossed to. His recent discovery of his race and blood only made his lack of understanding about why time seemed so quick and so slow make the most sense. He knew of the aging of elves...rather, he heard the Nords grumble about it over the years. But never did he think he would be part of such a people...perhaps this was why the bandits always treated him this way. They called Elves pathetic and scum...this made sense to him now too. Now he knew why the Bandit Chief was so harsh to him...he saw him as lower than dirt.

So it did shock him when he was woken this morning, a tunic thrown over his body and his Chief telling him that they were playing a game.

A hunting game, he called it. And that the elf was the prey. He told him to run and that if they found him, the game was over. In more ways than one.

So in a sense, he was free. In another sense, he wasn't. And he didn't know where to go from here.

He had never been alone like this. No tribes, no chiefs...the idea of him being 'free' was confusing. What had he done wrong? He knew he failed the Shor's Stone job, but did that really mean the men were going to hunt him like an animal now? If that were the case, then he best accept his death. He had no one to turn to. No where to go.

Red eyes finally lifted from the water, taking in his surroundings and tried to calm himself. This was a good thing...he was free...sort of? Gods above, he didn't know anything about anything. How was this truly a good thing?

A small cry of frustration and he pounded his fists into the dirt, wanting a way out of this hell he was thrust into with no warning.

He continued this for what felt like hours...and after a while..he felt liberated. The nerves in his gut were gone, his trembling had ceased and he could suddenly see clearly once again. He let out a shaking breath of air...and suddenly, the world seemed peaceful.

He was surrounded by trees and the large lake spread out ahead of him. He could also see what looked to be buildings...lots of them. How had he not noticed this before? There was a city nearby. Perhaps he could get help there...maybe someone would point him in the direction of safety. He could hide here...maybe someone would take him in...help him...

The elf suddenly sprung to his feet, ignoring the ache and the bruises as he tried to locate a way into the city. Fears of being caught gone for the moment; he needed to get in there and find help.

\--

It took him all day and by the time the moons were high in the sky, he was exhausted and hungry.

The path he finally found which led to the main gate of the city seemed so long and his vision hurt just from the effort to find it. By the time he could see the wall, he collapsed.

When he awoke, he found he was in a tent and in a sleeping roll, suddenly warm and with a damp cloth on his forehead. To his left, he could see a fire burning outside and several people moving about. He couldn't help but groan to himself as he sat up, only to be gently pushed back down by soft hands. His eyes shot up to the figure and was greeted by a sight he had seen maybe thrice in his long life.

It was a woman...a catlike woman...what were they called again? He had the name at the tip of his tongue...

She didn't let him speak at first; she simply told him to stay in the bedroll and sleep, how his fever was going down and that when he woke up, he would eat and be on his way should he chose to. His red eyes closed quickly, unable to stay awake much longer...it helped that her accent soothed his ears and lulled him back to sleep and that the fur of her hand was warm...oh now he remembered what they were.

Khajiits...

He awoke maybe a few hours later, feeling much more relaxed and less tense, only hungry and a bit more confused. The woman who helped him, Ahkari she called herself, told him that they were Caravan traders and that they would trade with him, if he had coin to spare.

Sadly, he didn't have much. Looking into the pouch of his tunic, he saw that what the Chief gave him was only 20 gold septims and maybe 3 lock picks. Even that seemed generous for this sick game he was stuck in.

When she asked about the amulet around his neck, he mentioned that this was all he had from the life he couldn't remember, even though he didn't know where it came from. He simply had it from when he was a baby and no one had been able to remove it. This led Ahkari to speculate whether or not it was enchanted, not that the elf knew fully what that meant. Most bandits he lived with were not skilled in magic, as far as he recalled.

When she touched it, gently, her feline eyes seemed to glow as she determined this to be, in fact, enchanted, but with what, she couldn't off hand tell. Even the elf was confused as every time someone else touched it, the amulet burned them and yet here she was, unharmed and turning it over to examine it. She caught a glimpse of an engraving and asked if he could read it.

He didn't know what that word meant, but had often wondered about the importance of it. She smiled and asked if he ever considered this to be his name. The elf never had a name. Every bandit simply called him 'elf' or 'boy' or even their favorite 'sweetling.'

It took some time to convince him on her end that the boy was in fact, free. While she didn't know the extent of the situation, she said it bluntly and in that soothing voice that still eased the pulse in the elfs head.

"All this one can see is a young elf with a new life. Freedom is rare in lands such as this. If you have a chance to be your own, why waste it."

She left him with those words (as well as some food and mead) and as he watched their Caravan make their way down the stone path, he took those words to heart. He gripped the amulet tight in his small hand, turning it over to truly look at the word engraved on the back. Years he spent looking at it, trying to find a meaning behind it....he smiled his first smile in so many years. That kind Khajiit was right. He was free...it didn't matter if this was a game to those bandits or if the gods had finally given him luck.

A second chance....he was given a second chance....he smiled brightly at the amulet and turned around to face the city wall. He could start here, make a new life for himself, not as a slave to Nord Bandits...but as a newly born Bosmer with a new name. He said it quietly to himself as he could feel the amulet warm in his hands.

Layren...that was his name now...

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Riften, Layren came to discover, was not a very kind city, but it was something different, something new and something exciting. The people here were sometimes rude, but other times resourceful. He made peace (sort of; he would only listen rather than actually speak) with one of the beggars of the town square and listened to him intently about the times people left their homes and how long they'd be gone. Layren locked this information in his head and planned to use it.

If there was one thing Layren had to give credit for living among cutthroats all his life was his usual skill when it came to stealth and slaughter. He didn't know how to do anything else and while the moral part of him highly recommended him to do something else, something meaningful and something that wouldn't get him killed...well...something about the thrill of getting away with thievery...he couldn't deny the excitement he felt when he successfully robbed for his chief or killed someone simply for a little bit of praise. It was the only moments where he felt useful...where else could he do that but Riften...so he had overheard by many.

He spent hours sitting in the square, away from prying eyes and watched people come and go from their big houses above the waters; it took him maybe half a day to realize there were actually shops and homes just below the square.

He could see people in fine clothing, jewels and well kept accessories all over them..he could see himself selling them for a hefty amount of coin...maybe then he could buy himself some food...his stomach growled and he whimpered low in his throat. He hadn't eaten much since the Caravan left 5 days ago.

It had been a bit of a struggle, but he had gone much longer without food before. And sleeping outside in the cold wasn't anything he wasn't used to. There was a large statue of a man in the back behind the Keep and he found that sleeping under it kept the chill away for a time. Other times, he would sleep in the cemetery, in the small arch when the sky opened and it would rain. People looked at him like just another begger...and maybe that's where he was headed, but he knew better. He knew things that the common beggar never mastered.

The art of not getting caught. He could steal little things and be practically invisible, thanks to his thin body and impeccable endurance when motivated. And if anyone ever did catch him...well...he wasn't above murdering someone to keep them quiet. Bandit life was all he knew...and he'd have to adapt to it in a different way to survive. This wasn't the wilderness anymore, this was civilization. This was his second chance. He wouldn't waste it.

\--

This was much more difficult than he imagined.

It had been over a week, maybe 2. Layren was getting desperate.

What in the world did these rich people do all day that made them leave and then come home moments later? There wasn't a big enough break in time for him to break in and take something. And even if he could, there were guards everywhere...EVERYWHERE.

He could see their judging eyes under their helmets, staring at him as they passed by. He slumped near an empty house, unable to get it with the door being locked and he needed to save his lock picks for a place that actually held something of value. He had gotten much thinner than he last remembered and unable to stand for too long without feeling the ache in his bare feet, cut up and bruised. He didn't dare look at the bottoms of his feet for fear of what he might find. The slight bloody tracks he left on the stone walkways was indication enough. 

He was also filthy; he had taken to throwing himself into the lake behind the city just to feel some semblance of cleanliness, but it never truly lasted. He had briefly imagined someone to have clothing that fit him in their houses, although, these days, he didn't think about breaking into peoples homes for something so trivial as clothing. The tunic he wore felt like a sack on his small body, but it was enough to keep him covered for now. 

And truthfully, at this point, he could truly care less about valuables or jewels. All he wanted right now was food or coin to buy food. He was living on uneaten bread he snatched from people when they weren't looking, going to the bottom of the city to drink from the canals.

He had gotten lucky a few times; in his pocket was maybe 60 gold septims, having stole 40 over the course of two days from one of the merchants safe boxes. It was enough to buy something, but he knew that spending it all in one go just for food could only hold him for so long. He might be uneducated in several areas, but common sense came with larceny.

It had been raining for a few days and Layren had managed to hide out under the arch in the cemetery again, bunching his body tight for warmth and trying to ignore the painful growling in his stomach. He clutched him amulet tight, afraid of going to sleep for fear of someone taking it, even though people had tried and failed before.

He still didn't know why or how.

\--

"Be careful. The Thieves Guild have Maven Black-Briar at their back."

He heard the Nord mention that to his female companion, a woman dressed to the nines in armor, but it seemed like the caution fell on deaf ears. She went on about how they were the reason she was here and Layren only sighed, itching the wound on his hand as he slumped by the square again, sitting on a bench near by.

It was something he had heard people talking about a lot lately....this Thieves Guild. They seemed rather infamous here, same with this...Maven person. He didn't care. They sounded like another bandit tribe and he couldn't get involved with something like that. Not again. Never again.

_Groooooooooooooooooooooooooooowl_

Both arms wrapped around his stomach, doubling over on himself and he cried silently as he tried to ignore the horrible pain in his gut. He killed off his bread 2 days ago. Now he was on limited time and suddenly out of options. He either had to spend all his spare gold on food or suck up his nerves and break into someones house to get it himself. Choices were rather slim. 

His red eyes looked around him for a moment, hearing a bustle of business from behind him and his brow quirked after really taking in the town squares sudden influx of people. 

The square was rapidly flooding with people, merchants eager to make some coin and the guards seemed to be focused more on them rather than their usual patrol. Layren looked around twice....three times...once more... just to be certain...and his eyes widened despite their exhaustion.

Well...what did he have to lose.

He whimpered when he got to his feet, still bruised and sore from the weeks of walking bare. His legs shook and his whole body felt as though it was going to collapse in on itself. But there was no time to worry that. He had to be quick.

Eyes locking onto a house and seen people leaving and no one returning to yet, he limped towards the front door, kneeling to one sore knee and pulled out his first lock pick. Glancing around quickly to be absolutely sure, he inhaled and starting working to pick the lock.

_SNAP_

Oh....well that never bodes well when the first one breaks....he shook his head. He had to calm down, otherwise this would all be for nothing. Someone would catch him and he'd be thrown in Riften Jail...or worse...

Layren gulped slowly as he eyed the two ends of the broken lock pick on the ground, quickly looking to see if anyone caught him yet as he reached into his pouch for the second pick. Once he felt safe enough to try again, he went about it. This time, he could feel something to a give and slowly worked it to the left. It was working...the lock was actually starting to give. Just a little more....

_SNAP_

SHIT.

The Elf gulped again and slowly took out the last pick, eyes wide with sudden panic and desperation as he fumbled with it, almost dropping it from his shaking hands.

He grumbled a quiet, 'Damnit...c'mon...' before starting again, easing the lock pick ever.....so....slowly....he could feel the give again and it seemed to be getting easier and easier with every inch to the left. He closed his eyes, sweat beading from his head as he moved the pick another inch.

_CLICK_

His heart stopped....he did it. He actually did it. His eyes snapped open and he smiled to himself. And everything in him gleamed with adrenaline as his brain wrapped around the amount of food he was about to steal...he knew the people who lived in this house were most likely nobles, so they had to have bountiful amounts of good food...

And gold. By the gods, he felt brave enough to get their money too. He had originally fought against that when he was just starving enough to ignore the gold, but now that the door was unlocked, he thought about the amount of gold they must have just sitting around. Rich people are careless like that, his Chief once said.

So much went through his head, so many open possibilities just from one house. They must have lock picks too and if they didn't, he could buy more with the gold he would take. Then he could break into other peoples homes and steal enough money to get out of this city. Go where, he wouldn't know, but something told him deep down he could. The Khajiit was right about him.

A new elf...a new life...a second chance...and the very odd sound of very heavy footsteps coming up behind him.

His heart sunk...he lingered too long. Smiled wiped clean from his face and look of utter horror took over. Oh no....oh no no no no no no no...it was a guard...it had to be....but if it was a gaurd...then why didn't he just pull the elf from the door and drag him off to jail...maybe it wasn't a guard...maybe it was...

Layren gasped and his eyes widened more...what if it was one of the bandits from his recent tribe...what if it was the Chief? Oh gods...gods above...they found him.

This was it. This was the end of the game. He didn't move fast enough. A two day head start may have bought him some time, but he lingered in the city too long. He got sloppy and now he was going to die.

Hands still holding the lock pick in place, he gulped and slowly turned his head to face his end, apologizing to the air under his breath and lifted his gaze, expecting a knife to the throat or a bag over his head...

Except...it wasn't any of those...far from it.

Leaning against the rail, arms crossed and with a small smirk on his face, was a Nord. Immediately, that sent red flags rising in Layren's head....Nords were the reason he was so afraid to speak. They would hurt him if he opened his mouth without permission. Nords were the reason he had to kill and steal to survive, even if it meant killing your own kin. Nords were the ones who tied him down when they felt malicious and cruel...whipping him and... _using_ him for reliefs sake.

Nords terrified him...not even just Nords...humans scared him..never did he once attempt to speak with anyone in the city unless he could tell they were not a human looking man and even then, he couldn't bring himself to talk with the other Elves...he was afraid of being back stabbed in the night like so many had threatened to do to him before. What's worse, he sadly couldn't tell the difference between human races. He had heard words like 'Breton' or 'Imperial' tossed around, but how was he to know? Humans were humans and human men especially were monsters....he knew that now.

And standing in front of him was a human man, dressed in rich clothing and a long mane of red hair, eyes bearing down on him and suddenly Layren had to wonder if this house belonged to the man...he wasn't sure which was worse. Being caught by the guards, being caught by the bandits or being caught by the owner of the house he tried to break into.

By the gods...just kill him now.

With breath held tight in his throat, Layren slowly removed the pick from the lock and slid them back in his pouch, all while he noticed the man eyeing him up and down, observing him...closely.

It took the Elf a moment to realize he had seen this man around the town square before, not really paying him much mind but....he could almost feel a gaze on him from time to time...it felt oddly similar to how he felt right now.

Had this man been watching him all this time? Why? For what purpose?

It seemed like forever before someone finally spoke...well...for the man to speak...Layren still couldn't find his voice in his tightened throat.

However, the sound of the mans voice gave him the same effect Ahkari's voice had...it was soothing.

"Running a little light in the pockets, lad?"

**Author's Note:**

> It was quick to read, but man, am I excited to work on this! 
> 
> I have another series I need to finish, I realize that, but oh Skyrim just holds a special place in my heart and I'm ready to finally get this all out there. 
> 
> Also, the character himself is usually described as being childlike because he's so small, but for slight cannon sake, I'm putting him at around an elven teenager sort of age, though on the cusp of elven adulthood. 
> 
> I hope you all stick around for this; I'm truly excited for a lot of reasons. 
> 
> If you enjoyed this work, don't forget to hit that kudos <3 and leave me a comment! I always enjoy the opinions of others and always look forward to hearing what others liked about the chapter!  
> If you wanna read more of my work, hit me up and follow my archive!  
> And if you wanna follow me on IG @fabskull, where I just post about every day shenanigans, hit me up!
> 
> See you all in the next work!


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